Vertigo
by Chexpet
Summary: After Joyce's funeral, Buffy is overwhelmed by the pressure and the loss. She attempts to take her own life by jumping off the hill where Angel had once waited for the sun. It is as she is falling that someone comes to her rescue. Now indebted to Spike, Buffy decides to care for him until his wounds are healed. Starts the night of 'Forever', Angel never came to town.
1. Falling From Grace

**A/N: While rewriting 'My Agony of Yours' and trying to find the muse to continue writing 'Faith, Hope and Ethan Rayne', I've been working on numerous Spuffy projects all the while and have made the decision to start sharing some of them, even if the others aren't finished yet. If you like this story, please be sure to leave a review, each one has so much power when it comes to our work, and ever one of them, no matter how short or simple, is greatly appreciated.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to the great God of Nerds, to whom we pray will one day bring back our beloved Serenity crew, until then however, our Spuffy dreams will keep us happy.**

 **Trigger Warning: This story deals heavily with the subject of attempted suicide, the feelings and emotions surrounding it, as well as the thoughts and such associated with losing a loved one.**

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Joyce was dead…

Her mother was gone…

Her soul passed on…

Her body buried in the ground…

And there was nothing she could do to bring her back…

She'd never experienced loss like this, even Angel's death couldn't compare. To have that one person who had been there her whole life, the one who had taught her how to walk and talk, the one who had tucked her into bed at night, who had scared away the made-up monsters and told her the real ones didn't exist. The one who had held her when she was scared and told her everything would be okay. The one who had waited up at night when she was out with friends. The one who made sure she always knew that she was loved, and when she had discovered the truth about Slayers, she had loved her no less than before.

Buffy remembered the pain of heartache, but this was so much worse. It was suffocating, draining, as though the loss and pain were trying to take her life too. It was so hard just to breathe, and Buffy found herself wondering why she bothered to try. Sleep was impossible, patrolling was pointless, and conversation was a nightmare to follow. People tried to talk to her, but all she heard was noise. Now that the funeral was over and the phone calls had come to an end, Buffy was lost with what to do with herself.

There were no more pressing duties she absolutely had to attend to. There were no more distractions to keep her from thinking about the fact that her mother was dead. That glowing presence, that warm embrace, that smile that reminded her that she was loved and she was safe. The house felt cold without her there. Buffy was in an almost constant state of worry and always on the verge of tears. She was so afraid she was going to stuff something up, that she would forget something. Like, what if she forgot to pay one of the bills? Or she forgot to turn off the heating when they left the house and racked up a bill they were so not prepared for? Could she do that in one day? She'd barely had a chance to look over the house bills, she had no idea how any of this worked.

If it wasn't for Giles, Buffy could be facing a frightening financial mess right now. She needed him to help her with everything, she didn't even know how to file taxes! She'd never had to, it was never supposed to be a part of her life and so no one had ever taught her how to do it. Her mother was supposed to be there to handle those things…Slayers weren't supposed to live this long. Buffy couldn't help but wonder if there was a connection there, like, by her living so long when she had been expected to die any time in her first year, had the universe decided to take her mother's life instead?

It was insane and ridiculous, but she couldn't stop the bizarre places her mind would go. But every time she wondered if there was someone she could blame, her thoughts always came back to herself. Tears escaped without her notice, her heart burning with the grief and guilt of loss. Why couldn't she save her? Had there been signs she had missed? Ignored? Did her mother know how much she loved her? Had she told her enough? When was the last time she had said those words to her anyway? What else had she forgotten to say or do?

Like a ghost wandering through the underworld, Buffy moved slowly through the cemetery, her arms bound around herself, long hair framing a face wet from silent crying. She felt cold inside, empty, like everything good and warm about her had suddenly been ripped out of her stomach. Her body shivered from the cold, her lack of thought to bring a coat just one of the many things she had failed to consider today. Her mind was a mess of confusion, anger, sadness and pain. Why _couldn't_ she have saved her mum? She was the damn Slayer, wasn't she? Yet she couldn't protect her mother from death? What good was she if she couldn't help the ones she loved when they needed her most?

What would happen if Willow got sick? Or Xander? Or Giles? Or Dawn? If she couldn't fight it, couldn't save them, then what good were her powers and her strength? What was the point in being a superhero when you couldn't protect the ones you loved?

A strangled whimper broke the silence of the night, and Buffy bit down on her lower lip, trying to prevent any further noise from escaping her, unbidden. She didn't want anyone to hear her, didn't want anyone to know. She had to be strong, she had to be tough; she had to be able to handle things when the world was falling apart. She couldn't let anyone see her be weak, to see her cry. But it was just too hard to keep it up this long. It had been hard when her mother was in the hospital, when Buffy had been worried sick and trying to take care of Dawn. It had been hard when she had watched her mother be wheeled away to her operation, wondering if she would ever see her again. To be told the danger was over, that everything was fine now and Joyce would recover completely, for life to get back on track and everything to be wonderful and good and…and then for it to all fall apart so suddenly…

She couldn't get that image out of her head, of her mother lying on the couch like that, her eyes open, and her skin pasty and white; stone-cold dead before she'd even walked in the door. How long had she been lying there, alone, before Buffy had come home? What had she felt before she collapsed? Had she been in pain? Had she reached for the phone? If she'd had the time, would she have called her? In those last few seconds, had she known she was about to die?

The now familiar sensation of bile churning in her gut returned and Buffy rocked from the nausea. Her steps were clumsy and her head was spinning, but nothing came up. The sickness stayed where it was, to torture her with the threat rather than to see it through. Down on knees and hands, Buffy tried to calm her body. Pale hands clutched at the wet grass, her nails digging into the dirt. The earth. The ground. Within which her mother's body now lay…

She was alone now…

It was up to her to take control…

To grow up…

To take charge, run the house, pay the bills, raise Dawn, be a parent and a friend and a sister and a Slayer –

It was all too much, she couldn't do this, she wasn't ready; she didn't know how to be all these things so quickly. As her world began to spin again, Buffy clawed at her head, trying to will it all to stop, for time to pause and give her a chance to get a grip. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe. The world was crumbling around her and all she could do was watch as everything fell apart.

A heart-wrenching scream pierced the quiet darkness, shaking the trees, startling the animals. But it wasn't enough. The pressure kept building. All of it was suffocating her: the guilt, the failure, the sorrow, the anger, the fear, the panic…and the envy.

Deep inside her mind, in a place Buffy rarely let herself go, she couldn't help but feel jealous of her mother's state. A state where there was no pain, no worries, no pressure, no expectations, no fear, no loss and no shame. She was in a place of peace now, and sometimes, more than anything, Buffy wanted to be there too.

Buffy choked on tears as she found herself hating her mother, for leaving her, for having it easy when everything was so hard for her. For not teaching her everything she needed to know, for not telling her how to take care of Dawn. For dying so suddenly without any kind of warning and leaving her here alone to put everything back together. Then she hated herself. How could she hate her mother when she was dead? How _dare_ she even think such horrible things! It wasn't her fault that a little piece of clogged blood had killed her, she didn't choose to die! It wasn't a choice! It just happened! But she still wanted to blame her, she wanted to be angry at her, as though she had made some decision to abandon her just like everyone else she loved.

The ones she loved always left, it was just a question of when. Her father had left her, Angel had left her, and Riley had left her, now Joyce too. How long was it before Willow and Xander were next? How long until Giles decided he was tired of being her Watcher? Of playing the role of father and decided to get the hell out of dodge?

How long until she was completely alone…as a Slayer was supposed to be?

She was suddenly up on her feet, running through the graveyard with dark purpose. She couldn't remember getting up, or the run to the gate. She just kept running and running, as though running away from her problems would make them go away. As though she could outrun the pain and keep it from ever clawing its way back inside her heart. She passed by houses and buildings, parks and cemeteries, churches and schools and shops and halls. Into the woods that surrounded the town, into the depths of darkness that promised a twisted peace. Up the rocks and hiker's trails, past the signs and through the muddy earth. And then she was there.

Why? How? At what point had she decided this was where she wanted to come? What reason could she have to come to this place? To stand here on the knoll that overlooked the town. The place where Angel had once stood, waiting for the sun. Is that why she was here? Was she waiting for the sun? Slowly, Buffy moved forward, peeking over the edge at the steep drop, too far down for her to see in this light. It was endless, it was welcoming, and it promised her the silence she was so desperate to find. No, she wasn't waiting for the sun, but her purpose here was the same.

It never even occurred to her the consequences of what she was about to do. She didn't think of Giles or her friends. She didn't think of Dawn, of Glory, of Angel or the world. All she could think about was how peaceful it would be if everything just stopped. The pain would cease, the world would still; the fear would be washed away in the sense of freedom that would fill her. It would all be over…no more death…no more pain…no more crippling pressure that threatened to make her head explode. Everything would end…

…and she would be free.

Her decision made, her feet backed up a few paces, muscles preparing for a running start. Her body moulded into position before propelling itself forward. The wind gathered up her hair, the cool air brushing against her face in a soft caress. Freedom was only a breath away, she could almost taste it already, that peace and quiet. No more evil, no more fighting, no more end-of-the-world…all of it was about to end for her. Her toes met the ledge of the hill as she faintly heard someone screaming her name. Her heart jerked, her eyes grew wide and her mind cleared of the fantasy; suddenly and horrifically fully aware of what she was about to do. But it was too late.

She flew off the edge and into the empty air, her slight frame falling through the chilling gust. Her heart was pounding louder than thunder, fear spreading to every corner of her mind and soul. Terror filled her chest as she realised what she could truly expect to come. There was no peace or freedom at the end of this fall, there was only pain. The pain of bleeding to death, of lying broken on the hard ground, unable to move or cry for help. The pain her friends and sister would feel if this actually worked; the pain they would feel if it didn't. What if her Slayer abilities couldn't heal everything? What if she was left in a horribly incapacitated state, unable to care for herself without the help of her teenage sister or her friends? This was far worse than locking herself in her room and refusing to come out. This was worse than making herself so busy with work and funeral arrangements that she couldn't spend any time with Dawn. This was worse than running away to L.A. with no intention of ever coming home.

Losing Joyce had been hard for them all, but to lose Buffy would break them apart. In this act, she was giving up. In this act, she was betraying the world. In this act, she was abandoning the ones she loved.

Oh god, what had she done?


	2. The Edge of the Earth

The wind stung her eyes, forcing tears down her face. The outfit she'd chosen for patrol did nothing too keep her warm, and as the fear of what was about to happen left goose bumps along her skin, Buffy wished so hard that she could go back a few minutes and stop herself from making this choice.

A hand appeared from nowhere, wrapping around her ankle and jerking her up. A shadow filled her vision as a dark body swung her around to face them. Still falling into the darkness, a set of powerful arms pulled her in, moving her limbs, curling her up. Her head was tucked beneath a chin, two long legs wrapped protectively around her hips. The shadow twisted them around, switching their positions and placing themselves in the greatest danger. Arms tied around her back, trying to cover as much of her as possible before they broke the tree line. Her mind was in shock, she could barely register that someone else was there, let alone wonder who or why.

The world disappeared behind the tall pine trees, the lights of the town eclipsed. It was only leaves at first, pine needles scratching her face and stabbing through her clothes. She felt a sting on her cheek, a tiny dribble of blood somewhere on her face. She pulled up her knees, trying to protect herself, feeling the body against her moving to accept the change. Then the first impact was made.

The outstretched limbs of the trees were snapped and scattered upon the forest floor, the thicker branches making a brutal assault on the pair. Buffy cringed as she heard the sounds of tearing flesh, felt the power of blunt force as the second body made contact with solid wood. She heard something crack, something snap and something break. Her eyes forced themselves open for the briefest of moments, her lids fluttering as she tried to see what was going on, but the wind was too powerful to fight. Droplets of red flashed across her vision, but the blood wasn't hers. Something hit her in the face and her forehead began to burn. She felt her frame being jerked and shoved as they hit branch after branch, once or twice they were slowed down, held momentarily by the arms of the trees before being swiftly dropped.

Her joints and muscles ached as the assault continued, the force of impact travelling through the other body and rattling her insides. Somehow, through it all, they never let her take the full attack, only ever the echo of the true harm. It seemed to go on forever, the fall never seeming to end. Then, finally, their bodies combined crashed into the ground.

The final impact caused a shot of pain to run through her arm and Buffy ground her teeth, tears cascading down her face in shame and guilt. What had she done? How could she have been so stupid as to actually jump? She couldn't believe she had actually gone through with it. Then she lifted her head with cautious speed. Who had taken the damage for her? Who had probably just saved her life? Her eyes were bleary, her vision distorted by tears of pain and her stomach felt horribly tight. There was no heartbeat from her rescuer, no sound or breath. Were they dead? Had she killed someone?

Slowly, she reached out a trembling hand to touch their face, trying to map out their features in the dark, figure out who they were if she could. It only took her moment to realise her Slayer senses were going off; a familiar signature registering loud and clear in her mind. Her heart beat wildly, both fear and disbelief going wild within her mind.

"Spike?" Her voice was a whisper, but he would have heard it were he awake.

Wiping away her tears, Buffy stared in wonder at the soulless monster who had risked his life to save hers. She bit back a horrified gasp when she got a good look at his face; she'd never seen him look like this. Cold blood was streaked across his face, a horrible gash on the side of his head allowing the stolen substance to trail down his cheek and neck. There were cuts and scratches everywhere, mud in his hair and on his clothes. Buffy tested her limbs, feeling a great deal of pain, but evaluating that nothing was broken, and moving very slowly in her effort to climb off Spike's chest.

Hazel green eyes looked over his body, feeling sick to her stomach at the distorted position his legs were lying in. She couldn't see much due to his dark clothes and she gathered enough courage to lift up the edge of his shirt. A huge, dark bruise seemingly covered the entirety of his right side, and when she lifted the shirt higher, it became clear to her that more than a few of his ribs were badly broken. She saw the glimmer of light bouncing off something smooth on his hand and when she reached out to touch it, she realised it was blood. Working him out of his beloved coat was a challenge, but she had the sense not to rush in panic. Once his arm was exposed to her, she wished she had left it alone. The bone of his upper arm had been snapped in half, one piece now poking right through the skin in a grisly mess.

Buffy turned away, throwing herself down about a foot away when the contents of her stomach decided to emerge. The taste was horrible and bitter, her throat burning from the acid. She'd seen a lot of wounds, some horrific and some fatal, but that had to be one of the most visually disturbing injuries she had ever had the displeasure of witnessing. It was disgusting and gruesome, and she found herself thanking the universe that Spike was already dead.

These wounds would have killed him if he were human, even a Slayer would be hard-pressed to survive wounds like this. But for a vampire? If she could get the bones back in place and get him some blood, he should be able to make a full recovery within a few weeks.

The Slayer part of her brain asked her why she should help him, why she should do anything for the twisted creep who had chained her up in his crypt and threatened to set his crazy ex on her if she didn't admit she was in love with him. Why should she help a soulless vampire? A monster, a killer! She hated him, she loathed him; she didn't want to have anything to do with him! He was selfish and disgusting and rude and wrong! There was no good reason why she shouldn't just leave him here to burn in the morning sun.

Except that he had saved her life.

Buffy wiped the vile taste from her mouth and sat back on her sore legs, trying to wrap herself up in her arms until a sharp pain reminded her one of the bones was sprained. Hot tears began to spill down her face, bleary eyes looking up at the drop, up at the ledge she had jumped from. A violent shiver ran down her back, igniting pain in nearly all her muscles at the sudden motion. With her head bowed, Buffy slowly looked back at Spike's unconscious form. It didn't matter who or what he was, she owed him her life. If it wasn't for him, she would be a broken mess on the cold ground, right where he was, and without anyone to help her.

She felt her emotions building up, a great cry of pain and panic at what she had just done, tears that would flow for hours. But she forced it down, knowing now was not the time. She could cry later, she could cry after she got Spike out of the open. Until they were somewhere safe, everything else could wait. Right now, she had to help him. He had risked his own life to make sure she survived, it wasn't something she could ever forget. He deserved a little respect at the very least, and he definitely deserved her help right now; after all, this was entirely her fault. He needed her help, and she wasn't going to deny him that. He had earned that much from her.

~o~o~o~

Her body ached and screamed for rest, but she didn't have the time to stop. The sun would be here soon and she needed to get Spike somewhere he would be safe. Loaded on her back, arms hanging either side of her neck, she carried the broken vampire to the only place she could think of that was close enough to reach. A walk back to town would take too long, she'd be putting him at further risk. A small part of her brain told her it would be a mercy to let him burn, or to just stake him now while he was still unconscious. But she couldn't bring the rest of herself to agree.

He deserved a chance, of this she was sure. But he was pretty heavy when her body was bruised and sore. There were sections on her shoulders and legs where the skin had been seemingly grated away in one fell swoop. Blood continued to drip down her arms, staining her clothes for probably the hundredth time. She had to make it there before she fainted, she had to get him into the shade.

At last, the mansion came into sight. She knew Spike would take issue with the place, but it was his only option. To take him back to his crypt right now could result in death for the both of them. She could feel the air growing warmer as the sky began to change, and she hurried up her pace to get inside the block-shaped building. Once deep within the bizarre structure, she carefully slid Spike off her shoulders and onto the couch that sat in the main room. The very first thing she did was to rush around closing all the heavy drapes, making sure all sunlight would be blocked out when it arrived. Once that was done, she looked down at her wounds and the lines of blood dribbling down her arms.

In the beginning, she was searching for paper towel to wipe up the mess, before looking towards the room where she had left Spike and giving a new idea some proper thought. This blood was useless to her now that it was outside her body, but it could assist quite significantly in helping Spike to heal, successfully and quickly. Even a few drops of Slayer blood would give him a boost in his recovery. It was insanity to feed a vampire on an animal diet human blood, let alone Slayer blood, but there was no other resource close by to draw from, and Spike needed blood as soon as possible.

Pushing aside everything she had been taught about vampires and all the reasons why feeding them with your own blood was a horrible idea, Buffy hurried to the kitchen and searched through the belongings abandoned there since Angel had left town two years ago. If she was going to give Spike her blood, she needed something to put it in. There were a lot of objects to sift through, not a one of them having ever been used. Eventually she found a small bowl that could serve her purpose and she sat herself down on the corner seat near Spike. She set the little china bowl in her lap and began wiping her hands down her bloody arms with care, gathering up the blood and letting it drip from her fingers into the bowl. The porcelain was frightfully cold against her skin as she tried to scoop up the lines of blood, pleased that she had chosen to wear something sleeveless tonight so that there was more blood in the bowl and less in her clothes.

When she was sure she had gotten all the blood her body was going to dispel, her own super-powered healing already at work, Buffy crawled up the couch to lean over Spike's unconscious form. With her left arm out of commission, she was forced to lean against the back of the couch and use her other arm to hold the bowl out to the unconscious vampire. She poked the bowl against his cheek in hopes of waking him up. She heard a quiet grumble and poked a little harder, moving her aim towards the wound on his head. She knew it was cruel to attack him where he was already hurt, but she was getting weaker by the second and she needed him to wake up and drink this damn blood before she blacked out.

Disjointed mumbling announced his semi-consciousness and she encouraged him to turn his face upwards so the blood wouldn't spill down his cheek. Without saying a word, she began pouring the considerable amount of blood into his open mouth, letting the edge of the cool china meet his lips when he started reaching for the source in hunger. She ended up handing him the bowl when some part of his brain realised it wasn't a body he was drinking from, and moved herself back to her corner, curling up on the bend of cushions and closing her eyes, lacking the energy to move anymore. Her head was so heavy, and her body so weak. What she needed right now was a good long sleep. Tired tears crept from her eyes, a fraction of her bottled emotions carrying her off to sleep.

~o~o~o~

The world was fuzzy and thick with blood, the smell making him both hungry and nauseous at the same time. He felt numb, yet in pain, and wondered what the hell had happened to him. His head felt heavy, like after a night of heavy drinking, and he tried his damnedest to remember his last memory, but everything was a jigsaw of broken pieces. There was a pleasant taste in his mouth though, a special kind of blood he hadn't had in decades. It tasted sweet and full of life, it tasted powerful and it had the tantalising flavour of fear and adrenaline mixed in. It was the sweetest blood he could ever imagine, but where had he managed to get it from? What creature could produce a cocktail so delicious?

Then it hit him.

His eyes flew open and his head soared up in shock, causing everything in his head to spin. He couldn't see a damn thing, the back of his head throbbing angrily. His vision was shot. Everything was dark. What the hell had happened? And why the hell could he taste the blood of a Slayer in his mouth? He moved his hands about wildly, trying to get a grip on his surroundings. He was lying on something soft, but that was about all he could get. The scent of blood was so strong he could smell nothing else, and his ears were ringing so loud he couldn't hear anything beyond it. Then his last memory came back like a punch in the gut: the sound of a scream that had him running from his crypt, the scent of Buffy mixed with salty tears making him follow her tracks, and the sight of her standing on that hill just before she jumped.

He turned onto his side, trying to find the edge of his world, to get some solid ground while everything was spinning out of control. But instead he fell, landing on a cold floor, the impact of which made several points of his body start screaming in pain. His coat was hanging off one arm, and he could feel the bone piercing through the flesh above his elbow. Rolling onto his back, he clamped his hand over his upper arm, tugging down on the wounded skin, biting back a howl of pain, until it was stretched enough to pull over the broken bone, snapping the two pieces back together. He felt cold tears leak from the corners of his eyes as he held back the desire to scream at the pain. There was blood everywhere, making his arm slick and his nose wrinkle. Shaking his other arm out of his coat, he tore off his shirt with a single movement and tied it around the wound as best he could, using his teeth and single hand to tie a knot. Not needing to worry about circulation, he was able to wrap it tight to keep the bone pieces in place, hoping they would heal up soon.

He didn't know where he was or how he had gotten here, but he knew he couldn't stay. The distraction of his arm was brief and soon his mind was consumed with thoughts of Buffy once again. Questions filled with confusion and fear that made him want to scream. What had happened on that hill? How could she have been so stupid? Had he managed to save her? Was she still alive? Had she survived the fall? Where was she now?

He could remember jumping after her, but everything else was blank beyond that. What if she was dead? What if he'd left her body lying at the bottom of that hill while he sought shelter from the sun? Could he have been so cruel? He wouldn't have done that, would he? He would rather burn than leave her alone out there. If she was dead, there was no reason to live on. Would he have bothered to find shelter if the only light in his life had gone out? If Buffy was dead…if he had failed her…

His gut twisted painfully and he fought back the onslaught of tears. He breathed heavily, gasping pointless breaths in hopes of calming himself before he exploded. If she was dead…if she was gone…Oh god! He had to find her, he had to know what had happened to her. If she was still there at the bottom of the hill…if he had left her alone…NO! He wouldn't do that! He wouldn't have left her alone no matter what the result of that fall. He wouldn't have left her side for a second! He wouldn't…not willingly…

If only he could remember! If only he could see something! He might recognise where he was and the memories would come back, he might smell something or hear something and know that she was near and okay, but as of right now nearly all his senses were blocked. It was infuriating, it was like being human again. Only being human was better, at least you could see _something_ , hear _something_. This was like being thrown into the bottom of the ocean with no way out. It was maddening and cruel and the thought that he didn't know if Buffy was alive or not was killing him inside. He needed to know, he needed to find her; even if there wasn't much left to find.

He tried to get up, make it to his feet, but his legs just wouldn't bloody move. He couldn't even feel them, and for a moment he wondered if he'd lost them completely. But as he pulled himself along with the use of a single arm, he felt the heavy weight of two uncontrollable limbs being dragged behind him. It wasn't until he had tried two more times to get to his feet that he realised what was wrong, and when he did, he screamed.

 _"FUCK!_ "

His back…his bloody back was broken…again.

Spike slammed his head into the floor, roaring in anger and rage. His legs were probably broken too. Damn it. Damn it all to hell! It had taken him MONTHS to recover from that the last time, months of Angelus and Drusilla ignoring him so that they could fuck in his bed or gripe about the fucking Slayer while he sat in a goddamned wheelchair, unable to care for himself. But this time Drusilla was gone. He had no one to help him now. What was he supposed to do if he couldn't bloody walk?! How could he find Buffy if he couldn't even crawl? What if she needed his help and all he could do was lie here like a fucking floor mat while she bled to death somewhere alone? How could he help her if he was like this?

Abruptly there were hands grabbing at him, looping under his arms and lifting him off the ground. He tried to fight back, his basic defensive instincts driving him to attack and defend even though he didn't stand a chance. He was laid down on that same soft surface as before, where he quickly tossed over onto his back, not willing to let whoever was here put him in a defenceless position. How had he not noticed he wasn't alone? What the hell was wrong with him when he couldn't even _sense_ there was somebody else nearby? Where had they come from? What did they want?

So many questions were spiralling through his mind, until he felt the heat of a gentle hand pressing down against his chest. The hand of warmth and sunshine moved up to touch his face, examining his wounds and trying to calm him down. He could feel the flutter of a pulse in their fingertips and he wondered who they were. Had they found him in the forest? Was it their doing that he was here? What about Buffy? Was she here too?! Just before he was about to explode into questions, whose answers he wouldn't have been able to hear, the hand on his face moved close enough to his nose for the scent to break through the stink of blood and dirt.

 _Buffy…_

It was Buffy. His eyes widened in shock and relief as her scent seemed to coil in his nostrils, wrapping itself around his weakened frame. Buffy was here, she was alive. It was Buffy that had brought him to this place with the soft surface, had brought him to this place where the light of the sun couldn't reach him. It was Buffy who was running her hand over his face and chest and he wanted to cry. He closed his eyes and relaxed his head, soaking up the warmth of her body hovering above him. Buffy was okay…she was alive and everything was okay…She was safe and alive…and he could finally rest. His mind became calm, his pain fading away as the world of sleep summoned him back. He whispered her name in reverence before he fell unconscious, reaching his hand up to touch her, but failing to find her before he was asleep.

~o~o~o~

Buffy had been jolted awake by a horrific cry. Instantly sitting up, she suffered a very unwelcome dizzy spell before noticing the rest of the couch was empty. Her eyes locked on the mess of battered skin and blood on the floor and she realised Spike was awake. Well good for him, why the hell was he screaming? It took her sleep-addled brain a minute to process her memories from before and she felt guilty when she remembered his wounds and thought of how much pain he must be in.

"Spike?" She called to him rather weakly, her guilt over his injuries turning her call into a bit of an embarrassing squeak.

She stretched out her arms, trying to work out the kinks and mourning how comfortable she had been a moment ago. If it wasn't for Spike's noise, she could have easily curled up again and gone back to sleep. But that racket was still going. It took her a moment to realise he hadn't responded, so she called his name again, this time three times louder. Still no response. He was slamming his head into the ground, and for a moment all Buffy could do was stare in confusion at his behaviour, before she realised he was doing himself even more harm and decided she needed to put a stop to it. What the hell was wrong with him?

Buffy forced herself off the nice couch and made her way over to the vampire who looked to be throwing a tantrum of some kind.

"Spike! Stop it! What are you doing?"

Nothing. Absolutely no sign whatsoever that he had heard her at all. With a hint of frustration, Buffy grabbed him under the arms and hauled him off the floor, her left arm screaming in protest; of which she chose to ignore. She dragged him back to the couch, setting him down in the same place he had been before and sweeping his heavy legs up along with him as he flipped over onto his back. She noticed he had attempted to fix his arm and she was grateful she didn't have to pop the bone back in herself, though questioned whether it would be better to replace the filthy shirt with a clean bandage before remembering that vampires didn't get infections. There was light coming in, bouncing off the walls and coming in from other rooms, allowing her to get a proper look at him. God, he was a mess. There was nothing new after last night, but the blood and filth was far more prominent in this light. It didn't help at all that he kept wriggling about.

"Spike! Hold still! I'm not gonna hurt you, just calm down!"

He was trying to fend her off with one arm and a weak squirm, it was clear he didn't know who she was and his eyes kept flying around without focus. Placing her hand on his face to calm him down, his fussing finally stopped. He stilled for a moment in shock, confused as to what was going on. It was then that she realised how damaged he truly was.

"Oh my god…You can't see anything, can you?" She asked before putting two and two together and realising he probably couldn't hear her either.

He was helpless, truly defenceless, and completely unaware. Her hand began to move of its own accord, running around his face and over his temple, noticing how the motion seemed to sooth him. His nostrils were flaring, drawing in short, urgent breaths. She moved her hand closer to his nose, hoping he could smell her. If he knew who she was, it might calm him down. It worked. A look of shock and then utter relief was painted across his face. His body tensed and his eyes stared up, as though he could see her but always missing the mark. After a moment, his muscles relaxed. The energy seemed to drain from his body with his deep relief, this sudden realisation that everything was alright allowing him the chance to rest. He was left tired and weak, his eyes growing heavy.

"Buffy…" He whispered in a way that made her heart twist in guilt.

"Yeah, it's me." She said quietly, feeling the desire to answer even though she now knew he couldn't hear her. "I'm sorry, Spike. This is all my fault"

She shut her eyes for a moment, fighting back the threat of tears and unwelcome emotions, and when she opened them up again, he was fast asleep.


	3. The World Can See

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been enjoying this story so far, and thank you very much to the people who have left reviews, each one is greatly appreciated. I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and if you like it, please leave a little comment in the review box.**

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Buffy had been pacing back and forth throughout the room for almost twenty minutes, her muscles tense, head held low, and an arm wrapped tightly around her midsection for comfort. She'd sorted out what she needed to do, she just hadn't managed to convince herself to get going yet.

The sun had been up for hours now, it was only a matter of time before Willow and Tara took Dawn back to the house and discovered she was gone. Give it maybe ten minutes before they alerted Xander and Giles and suddenly the whole Scooby gang would be on the march, checking the cemeteries and playgrounds, the parks and back alleys. She needed to let them know she was okay, she needed to keep them from worrying, from panicking, from thinking she had been kidnapped or she was missing or she was lying at the bottom of a cliff because she was so wrapped up in her guilt and sorrow that she thought taking her own life would be a really good idea!

She let loose a strangled, frustrated scream, fighting back tears as her features twisted into a painful expression of regret and disgrace. Her injured arm lay limply at her side while her other hand plunged into her hair, gripping tightly onto the dirty locks at the same time as throwing her back against the wall, ignoring the stabs of pain at the motion, and letting herself slide down to the floor in a blubbering mess. She pressed her temple into her palm, trying to physically push the vivid memories from her mind, but finding the task impossible to accomplish. Vision set behind closed eyes was filled with the sight of that cliff, a strike of cold fear rushing through her body as she remembered the view from the top of that hill, of the sound of her shoes crunching on the ground as she ran towards her death. Tears escaped her desperate defences, littering the knees of her slacks as she willed the pressure of her emotions to breakdown and give her just one moment of peace.

Guilt was the first word she would use to describe what she was feeling, fear would be the next. It hadn't even occurred to her at the time what she was really doing. She hadn't thought about what her death would do to her friends, what it would do to her sister. How could she be so selfish? With their mother having died only days ago and Glory hunting for the Key, Dawn needed her more than ever right now. And her friends, the guilt she would have caused them. They would have blamed themselves for not stopping her, for not being there enough for her or not asking her to stay home or something. They would find ways, make some up if they had to, to make it seem like her death was all their fault.

But even though she could see now how awful the deed truly was, she was terrified that she would find herself back there; that the next time there would be no one to save her. Given how easily she had given into the temptation, she didn't trust herself anymore, she was terrified she would be faced with a similar moment and would once again make that jump. What was to stop her the next time? How could she keep herself sane? More than anything right now, Buffy wanted to run to her friends, wanted to have Giles hold her while she cried, to have Willow and Xander tell her that they loved her and everything would be alright. But that couldn't happen. If they knew what she had done…they would never forgive her. They would all turn against her, they would hate her, call her a coward; she didn't deserve their forgiveness.

Her friends would hate her for being a coward, Dawn would hate her for being so selfish, and Giles would look at her with that sickening disappointment and refuse to say a word. She couldn't handle the idea of losing them, she needed them so much, especially right now. As her face ran wet with shameful tears, she made the decision that she wasn't going to tell them. She couldn't ever tell them the truth, it would stay her little secret. No one would ever find out.

Except for Spike.

Bleary eyes followed an invisible trail along the floor, moving up to gaze at the vampire sleeping restlessly, but mercifully still and quiet, right where she had left him almost two hours ago. He was completely defenceless right now; couldn't see, couldn't hear, could barely smell, and she had a nagging feeling at the back of her mind that there was more going on with his legs than just a few little broken bones. He couldn't run, he couldn't walk; he couldn't defend himself at all. There were so many injuries to account for, so many things she needed to think about in terms of what she could do to help him. He couldn't care for himself like this and he had no friends to turn to. His only hope was her. He had saved her life, she owed him her help at least.

There were a few things she needed to do, and all of them involved her leaving Spike alone. There was no working telephone in this place, no way to call for help so long as she remained here. She didn't like the idea of leaving Spike unattended: no one to help him if he found himself in need, no one to keep him calm if he started to freak out again, and no one to keep him safe while he was in such a frail state. However, the list of things she needed right now could not be found within the mansion. There was no blood, no medical supplies, and no way to send a message to her friends and let them know she was okay.

But what if he woke up and she wasn't back yet? What might he do if he didn't know where she was because there was no way for them to communicate right now? Would he come looking for her? Would he resume bashing his head against the floor again? Would he start ripping things apart in anger and desperation, or would he just lie there and do nothing at all? It wasn't something she could predict. But she didn't have a choice. Sitting here doing nothing wasn't going to help either of them, and he was in desperate need of blood.

 _'Maybe a new shirt too,'_ she thought as she let her eyes roll over the sickly-pale skin of his torso, smudged and polluted with harsh shades of purple, green and yellow. There was a large contusion that covered almost his entire right side, meeting just under his arm down to a few inches above his hip and spilling out to reach across the midline of his back. It was a dreadful sight to look at, the natural white of his vampiric skin making the darker colours stand out in brilliant vibrancy, as though seeking to broadcast his vulnerable state to everyone around him. It was painful to look at, making her stomach twist in remorse. It would be a kindness to help him hide it all with one of his standard black shirts.

"Okay," she sighed conclusively, taking a deep, calming breath and removing her hand from her mess of hair, spreading her fingers in front of her face to use as a check list. "I need blood, I need one of his shirts, I need tape, disinfectant, bandages, and I need to make sure there is someone looking after Dawn." With a nod of determination, Buffy steadily got to her feet and turned, uneasily, towards the door, prepared to face the world outside. She just hoped she made it back before Spike woke up again.

~o~o~o~

Not wanting to bump in unexpectedly to Giles, Xander or Anya, Buffy kept to the alleys and cemeteries on her way through the town, only coming out of hiding once she reached her school.

When she first stepped onto the campus of UC Sunnydale, Buffy felt a reassuring sweep of comfort at the familiar zone. All the classrooms she knew so well, the dorm buildings, all the bright and seemingly happy people running around with books under arm, hurrying to class or off to meet their friends. The friendly exteriors, the deceptively peaceful atmosphere, and the false sense of security that a crowded place could bring. For the length of the courtyard, Buffy was calm and collected, revelling in the familiarity of her second home. But that comfort didn't last for much longer.

It wasn't so much a sense of danger as the feeling that she was being watched that she could feel creeping up her spine. Buffy began glancing over her shoulder every once in a while, catching multiple sets of eyes staring at her with quizzical looks. Why were they staring? Had she done something wrong? It wasn't until someone stopped in front of her and asked if she needed help, that she realised why everyone was watching her.

Her muscles tensed, her gut twisted and breathing became impossibly difficult as her body flowed with horror and her mind was drowned in the shock of sudden and almost crippling humiliation. Without a word of reply, Buffy took off at a run. She held her injured arm close to her body to keep it safe as she fought to escape the throng of people, all gawking at her visually stunning bruises and the considerable amount of blood on her; a mix of both hers and Spike's as well. There was dirt in her hair, rips in her clothes, bruises covering her from head to toe, not to mention the grating scrapes on the sides of her arms and the trails of dried blood they had left behind. She must look like she just crawled out of Hell, who wouldn't be staring?!

It hadn't even occurred to her, she'd been too busy thinking of everything else to take into account the attention she would draw looking the way she did. Unfortunately, running through the halls like a mad woman only helped to draw more attention, making her anxiety levels rise to unbearable heights. She wished for the Hellmouth to open up and eat her, she wished for a fight to break out to lure everyone's thoughts and gawks away from her, she wished to hide in a small dark room, somewhere no one would find her. She couldn't go to Willow like this, she couldn't let her see her this way.

With a sharp turn in the opposite direction of her best friend's dorm, Buffy hurried towards her own room, desperate to get away from all these people. In truth, there weren't too many in the dorm halls, but it felt like there were a thousand. Blocking her way, cramming her into a chokingly tight space, trying to squish her until her body was crushed. What were they thinking about her? Could they see it in her eyes? What she had tried to do? Did they all know she had tried to kill herself? Was every dark little secret she had painted clearly across her face? Did they all know what a horrible person she was? How selfish and reckless and cruel?

The sight of her dorm could not have come soon enough, her desire for the safety of her room so overwhelming that she didn't stop to unlock the door, merely bursting through with Slayer strength, ignoring the snap of the lock. Once inside, she slammed the door closed and pressed herself against it, making sure no one could come in. Her heart was beating too fast, making her head spin and her breathing quick and sharp. Everything was moving too fast, and yet nothing was moving at all. As slow as melting wax, her fear began to decline, allowing more of her cognitive functions to come back online. She came to realise there were hot tears pouring down her face, steadily dripping from the point of her chin as her body shivered from the overwhelming emotions of the past few minutes.

She wasn't used to fear, not like this. She wasn't used to everyone staring at her like that. She'd never been that reckless before. Why hadn't she considered what it might look like to walk into her school looking the way she did? She didn't make these kind of mistakes, what was wrong with her?

Every other thought was seemingly banished from her mind as she shot away from the door and reached for her toiletries bag. She should take a shower, that's what she should do. A nice hot shower would free her of this blood and dirt, it would make her presentable again, make it so everyone wouldn't be staring at her anymore. She could walk through the halls and pretend that nothing was wrong, and there was no reason anyone would think otherwise. Being careful with her sprained arm, she collected up a set of clean towels and selected a comfortable bra and undies, a pair of dark grey slacks, a black skivvy, and a pair of flat boots to put on once she was nice and clean. It seemed a wise idea to try to cover as much of herself up as possible; she had bruises in every area. So long as nobody saw them, no one would ask what happened and then she wouldn't have to be terrified that they would be able to tell she was lying. Because there was no way she was telling anyone about last night. Nope. Nada. Not a single soul. Spike was the only one who knew the truth and that was the way it was gonna stay.

Always grateful that the showers were only across the hall, Buffy confirmed her hold on her many items and hurried through the door. Once hidden safely in the bathroom, she picked out a shower stall at the very end of the room. Wanting to get moving, she wasted no time in jumping into the shower, running the water on full blast and scrubbing away at her scratched-up skin. Her actions caused fleeting amounts of pain, but she chose to ignore such things, focusing only on getting every inch of blood and dirt off her skin and quickly inspecting the new bruises she hadn't been able to see before. It was a wonder someone hadn't stopped her in the hall and insisted they call an ambulance, she was such a wreck.

Buffy watched the water running down the drain, a brownish red muddying the bottom of the stall. She felt obliged to try and help it all down the drain, to not leave any stains for somebody else to find, but when she crouched down to splash some of the water on the missed marks, she felt a tight pain in her lower back and legs and she decided it wasn't worth it. Focusing back on washing herself, she was thorough in her work, making sure she was as clean as she was ever gonna get, before stepping out and reaching for her soft towels. Once dried and dressed and a comb run through her hair, Buffy gathered up her things and escaped back into her room. Once everything was put away, she took a moment to sit on her bed, practising a few breathing techniques before she faced Willow. A few minutes was all she needed, just a few more minutes…

~o~o~o~

Anxiously, the Slayer knocked on the Wiccans' door, and then took a step back, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. She had a speech, she'd planned it all out, she'd practised it a few times; this wouldn't be so hard. All she had to do was tell Willow that she had something she needed to take care of, and ask if she could watch over Dawn for a few more days. That's all she needed to say. This would be easy, no problems. She could divert Willow's questions easily enough. Everything would be fine. It took her a few moments to realise there had been no response and Buffy leaned forward to knock a second time.

"Willow? Tara? Are you guys there?"

 _"What do_ you _want?"_ Came the snarky reply of the adolescent Key.

Buffy was reluctant to go inside if Dawn was there, but it was looking like she might be the only one she had to talk to. Willow and Tara wouldn't ignore someone knocking at their door, but she would have thought they would have taken Dawn with them if they had left the room. Was Dawn here all alone?

"Dawn, could you open the door? I need to talk to Willow." She tried again, hoping Willow was just in the bathroom or distracted by something.

 _"Willow isn't here. Neither is Tara. They went to class."_ The clipped sentences were intended to insult Buffy, as though questioning her intelligence and comprehension, but she found she hardly cared. She wasn't sure what she had done to invoke the wrath of Dawn this time, but a fight with her sister was the last thing she wanted right now.

"Then I need to talk to you"

 _"About what?"_ Her tone had changed as it came through the closed door, a more curious and open nature to the sound instead of the dismissive retort she'd had before.

"Please Dawn, it's important." She waited for a sound from the other side, but silence was all that came. "Dawnie? Please…I need to see you"

Slow as a building tide, a reluctant hand opened the door, leaving it ajar while the dorm's only occupant escaped to the other side of the room. Buffy examined her environment as she entered, looking for signs as to why she wouldn't be welcome here. The room seemed filled with darkness, though the curtains were wide open. The air was tense and a little cold, though there was no reason it should be. Buffy felt like she was stepping into a world constructed entirely by Dawn's emotions, her heavy sadness and bitter anger having filled the space in the time she'd been left here to stew. The girl in question was turned away, arms crossed in a defensive pose. Her long hair was un-brushed, her pyjamas wrinkled from spending the day in bed.

The fear that Dawn was experiencing the same darkness that had convinced Buffy to jump was what brought on the blonde's sudden reaction to the room's discovery. Without saying a word, Buffy rushed forward, the pounding of her footsteps leading Dawn to turn around to inspect her sister's actions. Long, fully-covered arms wrapped around the agitated teen, drawing her into a powerful embrace that she chose not to resist. Buffy ran a hand through Dawn's coffee brown tresses, her other arm protesting at the painful contact as she pressed it firmly against the girl's back. Dawn was still for the first few minutes, before something in her gave way and she hastily hugged Buffy back with all the strength she had, as though afraid she would go away.

Buffy pressed her lips to her little sister's head, cradling her in her arms, holding her as tight as she could without hurting her. "I love you, Dawn. I love you so much. I need to make sure you know that"

Dawn was a little confused by this turn of events, but she didn't reject the affection or the words that came with it. Fighting back tears, she buried her face against Buffy's shoulder and tried really hard not to cry.

"I love you, Dawn, you know that, right?" She needed confirmation. She needed to know that her sister understood that she was needed and she was loved. She couldn't let her go down the same path she had. Dawn had to be reminded that she was wanted and cherished, that she belonged here with Buffy, and that she would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

"I know…" She finally admitted. "I love you too, Buffy"

The Slayer gave a sigh of relief. "Good, it's really important that you remember that." She placed another kiss to the top of her head and then stepped back, letting her hands run down Dawn's shoulders and down her arms. "I need you to listen to me, I don't have a lot of time"

After such an exchange as that, Dawn suddenly thought the worst. Her pale blue eyes searched her older sister frantically for injuries or signs of decline, a shrill whimper escaping her when she saw the bruises and cuts appearing sparingly across her face; well on their way to being fully healed, but not having been there the previous day. She suddenly noticed her state of attire, noting that it was too warm today for clothes like these. She wondered what she was hiding, what wounds and bruises Buffy was trying to keep secret with her choice of apparel that covered her from chin to toe.

With an unsteady tone, Dawn looked Buffy in the eye and dared her not to tell her the truth. "What do you mean? Are you going somewhere?" The teenager's eyes grew hard and suspicious, a sense of aggression and accusation blending into her tone of voice. Her arms crossed over her chest again, the urge to protect herself from the possibility of oncoming pain increasing. "You can't go anywhere." She ordered. "I won't let you! You can't leave me too!"

Buffy immediately pulled Dawn back into her arms, holding on despite the girl's half-hearted attempts to fight her off. She rocked her sister gently, shushing in her ear to calm her down. "I'm not gonna leave you, Dawn, not ever. I'm not going anywhere, I didn't mean to scare you like that. I promise you, I will _never_ leave you alone, not ever." Guilt plagued her at the thought that she had almost done exactly that just last night, and she felt the burning determination to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. "I will never leave you, Dawn." She promised once again.

The consoling words brought comfort to the girl and she let herself relax against her sister. "Please don't die, Buffy, I need you"

"I won't leave you, Dawn, I'm not gonna die, not for a very long time. I will never abandon you"

After a few good minutes of unrestrained tears, Dawn pulled away, wiping the sides of her face with the back of her arm, and trying to hide the slight blush of embarrassment her assumption had earned. "So, um…what _did_ you mean?"

Having averted that potential meltdown, Buffy turned her thoughts back to the reason she was here. "What I meant was I can't stay too long. There is something I need to take care of for a little while, a few days maybe. So, I need you to stay with Willow and Tara a little bit longer. Are you okay with that?"

"What do you have to do?" Her arms were crossed again, but her tone wasn't defensive or angry, just inquisitive.

Buffy wished she could come up with an excuse, a distraction, anything to avoid answering that question. She couldn't tell Dawn about what she had done, especially not after finding out how terrified the girl was of losing her. She would never forgive her, she would hate her forever; and that was something Buffy simply couldn't handle right now.

"I have to take care of someone for a little while…last night, someone got hurt, and it was my fault…I need to take care of them until they get stronger. Could only be a few days, but if not…I don't know what I'm going to do"

Dawn studied the expression on her sister's face, looking for clues as to what had happened and who exactly it was that had been hurt. She noticed that Buffy wasn't in tears over this, but she _was_ riddled with guilt. She looked nervous and unsure, wary of what Dawn might say. It all made the teenager rather suspicious. "Who was it?" She asked in a flippant tone, as though the answer didn't really matter to her, but she wanted to know it anyway.

Buffy closed her eyes, biting down on her lip as she tried to decide how much she should say. After a pregnant pause, she responded with a quiet. "It doesn't matter"

Brunette brows frowned, blue eyes turning hard. "Tell me anyway." Dawn was never one to accept when someone didn't want to tell her what she wanted to know. Keeping secrets from Dawn was a dangerous affair.

For a moment, Buffy wondered if she should lie, make something up; just say it was a stranger or something. But then she realised that Dawn would find out the truth one way or another and it might very well be that she would be in need of the girl's help with this at some point. Wrapping her good arm around her upper body, Buffy turned her eyes away in a mix of shame and effort to remain detached. "It's Spike." She waited for a reaction of shock or disgust, but all she got was wide-eyed concern.

"Spike? Is he okay? I mean, he's hurt, but he's gonna be okay, though, right?" Dawn asked in rapid succession.

Buffy frowned briefly as she looked back at her sister. "I thought you hated Spike?"

Dawn frowned at her, not angry, just a little annoyed. "I didn't like what he did to you, but that doesn't mean I want him to get hurt. I like how he talks to me like I can understand stuff and never treats me weirdly because of what I am, like everyone was doing, and _still_ does." She insisted at a surprisingly low pitch for her. "But he's gonna be okay, isn't he? I mean, vampire healing and stuff, he's gonna be fine, right?"

Though she had suffered numerous injuries in the past and had taken note of the healing times for different kinds of wounds, the amount and sheer extent of Spike's injuries were beyond her current ability to predict. She didn't really know if vampiric healing was the same as Slayer healing, or if it was faster, more efficient, or even if there were any limits to it. In the end, the only thing she felt comfortable saying amounted to little more than a best guess with a little bit of a sugar-coating on top. "It's gonna take a while, but I think he should be fine…eventually"

" _'Eventually'_? Well how bad is he hurt? How bad does it have to be to rate ' _eventually'_?"

Cringing at the memory of the bone sticking out of Spike's arm, she went to cross her arms in front of her chest, wincing when her left arm complained at the action. "He, um…" she tried to find a way to explain this without giving her little sister all the gory details. "His arm is in really bad shape, he's badly bruised all over…and he…he took a nasty blow to the back of the head and now…I don't think he can see anything, or hear either"

"What?" Dawn exclaimed. "He can't see or hear _anything_? Anything at all?"

"I don't think so, and I think there's something wrong with his legs too, he can't seem to walk…or even stand for that matter"

Dawn was very quiet for a few minutes, before a look of determination bloomed on her face. "I want to help"

"What?"

"I want to help take care of him, I want to do something"

"Dawn," Buffy sighed, "I'm not sure if there is anything you _can_ do for him"

"There has to be something, I mean, you look pretty beat up too. Surely there is _something_. I want to be a part of this…I'm going with you"

At that declaration, Buffy's breath got stuck in her throat. Spike was pretty out of it right now, not only that, but he couldn't hear or see anything, she couldn't communicate with him in any efficient manner. What if he said something? What if he told Dawn what she had done? Dawn couldn't be allowed to know, it would destroy her to know that Buffy had chosen to leave her all alone like that, to know that last night she had thrown herself off a cliff and left her to pick up all the pieces, that it was only because of Spike's obsession with her that she was still alive right now. She wouldn't be able to handle that.

"No!" Buffy said quite suddenly, startling the young teenager.

"What do you mean, 'no'? I said I'm going to help, you can't stop me!"

Buffy could hear the aggression in her sister's tone, could tell how strongly she felt about this, and for a moment she considered the benefits of allowing Dawn to help her take care of Spike. It would be nice to have another set of eyes and hands, not to mention Dawn's willingness to help Spike, despite his history and his infatuation with Buffy. No one else would be willing to do that so easily, and she wasn't entirely sure if she could handle all of this herself. But she needed the chance to talk with Spike. Only once she was sure he wasn't going to sell her out, would she let Dawn see him.

"Look, maybe you can help out, but not today"

"Why not?"

Buffy drew in a deep breath, preparing her words very carefully to try and appeal to Dawn in a rational manner. She needed time for Spike to heal, she needed to make sure he wasn't going to tell anyone what she had done before she allowed him to be around other people. It wasn't even an option right now. But Dawn would be suspicious if Buffy gave any indication that there was something she wanted to hide. "Spike is in pretty bad shape, I don't think he would want anyone seeing him like he is right now."

Though it appeared that Dawn's resolve was melting into understanding, taking Spike's own feelings into consideration, Buffy was sure she wouldn't be able to keep her away from him forever. "Give me a few days, alright, give him some time to look and feel a little better, and then you can help me with him, okay? I just need some time to figure a few things out? Can you wait that long? Just a few days?"

Dawn's arms were still crossed over her chest, a dauntingly familiar frown plastered on her face again, but she looked a little more open to the suggestion than she did a few minutes ago. "Okay, a few days, but after that I want to see him, no matter how bad he looks"

She should have found it heart-warming that her sister cared about someone so much that their damaged appearance wouldn't change her mind about visiting them, but all she could feel was concern. How close had Spike and Dawn been before the whole Drusilla incident? What had been going on right under her nose? And how much did Dawn like Spike exactly? Was this something she should be worrying about?

Tossing the thoughts aside for another time, Buffy nodded her agreement to Dawn's conditions. Then remembered why she was here in the first place. "There is one thing you _can_ do for me, though"

"And what's that?"

The lack of Willow or Tara in the room had allowed the thought to slip from her mind, but it was something she couldn't afford to leave unsaid. "I need you to tell my friends that I'm okay. I need you to let them know that I'm not in danger or anything, that they don't need to come looking for me. Don't tell them about Spike, though, they won't understand, not yet. I need time to explain it to them, but right now they'll just make things a lot worse than they need to be. I just need some time to figure all of this out, okay. Can you tell them that? That I'm alright and just need some space? I'll tell them the truth once I figure everything out, but in the meantime, I don't want them running all over town looking for me"

Dawn smiled at the opportunity to do _something_ useful, and especially liked the part where Buffy was entrusting this little secret with her instead of her friends for once. Maybe Buffy was finally beginning to see her as someone useful or smart instead of just her kid sister. "I'll make sure they know, and you promise you'll come back soon?"

"I promise"

As Buffy gave Dawn another hug before turning to leave, the teen dropped her overlapped arms and bowed her head with a tinge of embarrassment. "Buffy?" She called as the Slayer was heading for the door. "Tell him I hope he gets better soon, k?"

Such words should have brought a smile to her face, but once again, all Buffy could feel was concern. "I will"


	4. Moving Forward

**A/N: Sorry for the late update, I hit a bit of a snag in one of the scenes, was going over it and over it trying to get it perfect, and in the end I just deleted the whole scene and started over. I'm afraid you won't be getting an update on Monday due to the lateness of this chapter, but I will be back on track by next week. I also apologise for the shortness of this chapter, about 2000 words short of my desired length. I hope you guys like what became of it, please let me know if you do. Every single review is important, even just the little ones. Let me know what you like about the story, where you think I might be taking it, who you think might be making appearances, that sort of stuff. R &R, and have a nice day :)**

* * *

He opened his eyes and the world was still dark. It hadn't been a dream, this nightmare was real. It felt like the back of his head had been bashed in with a hammer, and his body was so sore and bruised it was a wonder he could move anything at all. He lifted his left hand, finding little pain in that arm, and tried to find the top of the couch he seemed to keep waking up on. He already knew he couldn't move his legs, but he still gave it another try anyway, only to let out a frustrated groan when nothing seemed to happen, although he couldn't really tell, wasn't like he could see it if his leg had twitched or anything. He used his grip on the sofa to pull himself upright, but his legs weren't the only part of him that was paralysed. He didn't have the proper control over the muscles in his lower back to hold himself up, and soon enough his arm grew too tired to bother and he let himself fall back down again.

He couldn't tell for sure, but he was pretty confident the world would have been spinning if he had been able to see. He needed blood, buckets of it, and the chance to sleep for a few days straight. Or at least enough booze to knock himself out for a while, that would be nice. Maybe then he could get those haunting images out of his head. He'd only been awake a few minutes, but already his head was swarming with pictures he would rather forget.

It had been the very last thing he had been able to see, and it was something he never wanted to witness again. Seeing the love of his life throw herself off a cliff. How had things gotten so bad that the Slayer thought death was the only way out? How had the Powers That Be let things get this screwed up? Slayers dealt with more than enough turmoil and pain in their short-lived lives, why cause her more? What kind of world was this that sought to destroy the humanity in its chosen warrior for good? One girl against a million demons, practically destined to die at the hands of evil. She was the Chosen One, the hero, the good guy, and yet the world sought to destroy every ounce of happiness in her life, to leave the once joyful and bright girl as nothing but a shadow of ash and tears. To tear her apart, inch by inch, until she couldn't take it anymore, and was driven down a path such as this. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right! For her blood to spill across the forest floor because her heart couldn't take the pain anymore.

Though it was eating him up inside, he felt this was the better path. He should share her pain, as should her friends. If they all helped her carry the weight, she had a better chance of getting through all of this. But even if things ended with a smile and a laugh, it would never rid his mind of those images, and the sickening paintings his psyche was turning them into. He'd seen what happened when people fell from great heights, seen what happened to their bodies. To their bones and their eyes, and some horrible, perverse part of his mind was twisting his memories together, making him see things that brought about a horrible, empty pain in his chest.

He couldn't get the pictures to go away, he could see it all so clearly behind his blackened eyes. The mangled limbs all splayed out in all the wrong directions, the sickly pale skin that had lost all the glow of life, the body cold as the wet winter ground, and the eyes, no matter what colour they held before, now pale and grey. Orbs once filled with passion and light, interest, curiosity, now empty globes of slowly rotting flesh. It wouldn't be so bad to think about if it wasn't _her_ lying there in his head. _Her_ enchanting gold hair spread out across the sodden earth, _her_ brilliant hazel green eyes turning that chilling shade of icy blue. He could see those beautiful, powerful hands of hers, all broken up upon the ground, every inch of her flawless, bronzed skin splattered with flecks of her own blood, a pool of it growing beneath her head where the fatal blow had been wrought. Nothing left of the soul that had once burned so brightly within her, nothing left of her at all; nothing but a cold and vacant corpse.

A strangled cry built up in his throat, his chest heaving like there was a thread of wire sewn around the inside of his flesh, with someone pulling tight on both ends, leaving no room for him to breathe. It wasn't true, he knew she was alive, but damn did it hurt like a bitch. Just thinking about her like that, how she would have been if he hadn't gotten to her in time. He _hadn't_ gotten to her in time, she'd gone over the cliff, hadn't she? He hadn't stopped her from jumping. She was probably still hurt, still in pain…but at least she was alive.

That was what he needed to remember right now: Buffy _was_ alive.

He needed to see her, to hear her, he needed that certainty, that reassurance that everything was alright, but he would have to settle for a dose of her scent or the feel of her touch; it wasn't much, but right now it was enough. He called out her name, hearing the smallest of muffled sounds coming from his lips; a good sign hopefully; while his head rang with the vibrations of his voice reverberating inside his skull. He waited impatiently for some kind of tiny sound or small touch, perhaps even a slight draft of wind as she walked passed him. But the minutes stretched out without a single sign, and he called for her again in an even louder voice, tolerating the pain it was causing his head to speak so loud. Still nothing. His breathing began to pick up, his muscles tensing as fear shot through him, coiling in his gut. He held out his left hand, waving it around slowly, begging for some kind of contact. But all he could feel was empty air. Where was she?

"Buffy! Pet? Are you there? Buffy, let me know yer alright, luv! Please!"

But there was nothing.

He tried to give it one last go, trying to tap into his other senses, the ones unique to vampires and Slayers, and sought out her essence. But his head was so jumbled, he could barely think straight, and when he finally managed to get a read on his surroundings, there was nothing to be found.

He was alone.

Spike breathed uneasily, trying to subdue his growing anxiety. He was alone. There was no one here, no one to help him, no one to tell him what was going on or where Buffy was or if she was alright. He had no idea if she was still alive, where she had gone, or what she was doing. What if she was in trouble? What if someone had taken her while she was hurt? Or what if she had gone for help and never made it there? He had no idea what sort of injuries she might have, there were a million different things that could've gone wrong. Maybe everything was fine and he was just overreacting, maybe she had gone out for something and was on her way back right now…

…or maybe she had abandoned him.

Would she really do that? Of course she would, why would she want to stick around here with _him_ , she hated him. She wouldn't want to be anywhere near him if she could help it. Was probably glad he was incapacitated, couldn't follow her around anymore, probably only brought him here 'cos she was just a touch too nice to leave him to burn in the sun. She didn't want him around, no one did…but he wasn't going to give up. He had never given up before, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna start now.

He would find a way to be useful to her, find a way to make her smile, whatever it took. When he was stronger, when he'd healed up a bit, then he would find her. But for now, he could do with some rest, maybe a little more sleep would do him good.

~o~o~o~

It had taken her almost three hours to get from the campus back to the mansion, after having to double back to fetch her purse, then do three laps around the chemist's to make sure she hadn't missed anything, and then having to wait in line for almost twenty minutes at the butcher's shop, only to make it a kilometre from the mansion and remember she hadn't made a trip to Spike's crypt yet. She then got there, only to find three packets of blood in the fridge that made her time in line at the butcher's shop leave her shaking with frustration at the complete waste of time. She'd grabbed one of the bags as backup, and left the other two for another day. By the time she reached the top of the hill, her legs felt like the bones were made up of twigs and mud, set to crumble under too much pressure.

The walk around town was long and tiring, and Buffy fancied she could see another long nap in her immediate future. She would be lucky if she could stay awake long enough to bandage the two of them up before she blacked out. Carrying the supplies along the lengthy road, Buffy's left arm was in hell, feeling like a rubber band was all that was holding it together, even though it was the arm with the lightest load; both the sack of blood she'd bought and the one she'd grabbed from Spike's crypt were sitting in the bags on her right arm, and they sure felt a lot heavier than they looked. Her mind was wandering, having little energy to keep it focused, so she had to work extra hard to keep herself motivated. Falling asleep in the middle of the road was _not_ something she wanted to take part in. Once she made it back to the mansion, everything would be ten times better.

Crawford Street came into view and Buffy breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes finally landed on the mansion, the knowledge that she didn't have much further to go, fuelling her body to go just that little touch faster. Stepping through the heavy drapes and into the cool darkness, Buffy was surprised to find Spike in the same place she had left him. She thanked whatever deity was watching over them that he hadn't felt the need to go for another exploration, she did _not_ have the energy to drag him back to the couch again.

She laid the heavy bags down on the little stone coffee table and carefully removed her arms from the loops. Even Slayer strength and healing hadn't been enough to save her from those annoying dents in her skin that came from too-heavy shopping bags. Looking over at the still and silent vampire, Buffy eased herself down onto the couch. He hadn't moved since she'd come in, so it was fair to assume he hadn't detected her yet. She supposed she should probably let him know she was there, so she patted his lower leg a few times, trying to get his attention. No response. She rolled her eyes and looked away.

With a sigh, she felt her body beginning to relax, seeping into a state of rest that would lend itself to a nice long nap. Then she sat up and shook her head. Ow. No, she couldn't sleep yet, she needed to deal with Spike's arm first, it was the only injury between them that really called for concern, and she needed to give him some blood, get the healing process going. Once that was taken care of, everything else could wait. So, with a tired moan, she slowly got to her feet and moved herself around to sit on the coffee table in front of Spike. She needed to move him, having him lying on his back wasn't going to help her in any way with this.

Gently, she placed a hand on his arm, being careful not to touch the severe bruising near the elbow and above. His reaction was instant. His head shot up, turned in her general direction, but it was like his eyes were looking right through her, as though she were invisible.

"Buffy?" The look in his distant gaze was a little surprising, the blend of shock and a touch of hope left her speechless for a few minutes, trying to ascertain what he had been thinking about. Had he thought she wasn't coming back?

She patted his hand, trying to tell him 'yes' as best she could.

"Buffy!" His eyes were wide and full of light, the blue of his irises almost glowing with joy. It was a powerful vision to have staring you in the face. She shook it off a moment later, trying to keep her weary mind focused. As she turned to pull the plastic bags closer, Spike dipped his head, as though having suddenly become incredibly shy.

"Thank you…for comin' back"

She froze for a moment, staring back at him with a look of confusion. He really _hadn't_ thought she was coming back. He thought she'd left him here. A cold feeling grew within her chest and she found herself resenting Spike for thinking so little of her. She may not like him, but she had never abandoned anyone in need. Looking over his current position, she decided she needed to get him sitting upright. Slipping her hands under his back, she lifted him slowly from the seat, and, upon getting no resistance from him, gently turned him around so he was sitting up against the back of the chair, his body facing her. She waited for him to wriggle his shoulders a bit, trying to make himself comfortable, before moving on in her task.

Buffy reached for one of the blood bags she had bought from the butcher, and slid it into his left hand. She guided his hand and bag up towards his face and as he managed to catch the faintest whiff of blood, he understood what it was that she had given him. Wasting no time in morphing into his vampiric visage, Spike held the bag above his head, sliced his fangs into the bottom and began to drink the cold and tasteless blood.

Buffy started unpacking her shopping, setting everything out on the table for her to examine. She was tired, and exhausted, but she needed to take care of this arm of his before it started healing in the wrong place, _'Or before it starts bleeding again'_ she thought, as she watched large gulps of blood travelling down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing in time to his audible swallows.

Grabbing the bandages and binding tape, Buffy was reminded of the aching she had felt in her back when she was in the shower as it shot through her once again. Her body would heal soon enough, but it was probably best to try and take it easy for a while until everything was working the way it should be. She sat up straight and reached for the knot on Spike's arm, the vampire making no move to stop her as she carefully tugged the torn shreds of his shirt apart, only remarking:

"It ain't a pretty sight, luv"

On a normal day, she might have grinned and challenged him, told him she'd seen far worse and there was nothing she couldn't handle. But today, she was only appreciative of the warning he was giving her, knowing herself how grisly the wound really was. She had thought she knew what to expect, but when the wound was revealed to her, it looked far worse than she remembered. Sure, the bone was back in place and the skin wasn't dangling off his arm, but the skin around the wound was such a deep shade of purple that it must have been in a constant state of anguish. Blood had dried around the edges of the wound, and left trails of smudged red around his bicep. It looked incredibly painful.

She moved with care, pausing for evaluation every time he hissed or fought back a growl at her exploratory touch. The shirt came away almost dripping with blood and she immediately threw it across to the corner of the room, deciding neither of them had any need of the sodden garment anymore. The alcohol swabs came next. Spike had no need for disinfectant, but it had been the best she could get in place of a damp wash cloth. But there was a lot of dried blood and the swabs were so small that it was taking a while to get it all cleaned up; not to mention all this sitting still was starting to make her patient a little antsy. She reached over and handed him the second bag of blood to keep him distracted.

Even though he didn't need the arm to be cleaned, Buffy used the swabs to clean the open wound, unknowing that the alcohol would have the same effect on him as it did to everyone else with a gaping wound to the side of their arm.

"That bloody well stings, Slayer! What the hell 're yer doin' ter me?" He asked with blood dripping from his lips.

Buffy gave him a scolding slap to the chest in an effort to get him to settle down. He managed to keep his cool while she finished with the clean-up, but he started rolling his head around, as though looking for something to entertain him; despite his entire world being currently pitch black; while she prodded the flesh around the wound, making sure that everything was in place. Once or twice she got a growl out of him, but he did his best to keep it to himself. She then stuck a piece of gauze over the hole and wrapped some tape around his arm to hold it in place. The soiled swabs were tossed into the plastic bag the supplies had been in, and the remaining packet set aside for later when she would have the chance to tend to her own injures.

She grabbed the bandages next, making sure his upper arm was properly covered in pristine white cloth before taping off the end. He let his arm relax after that, thinking the process was over with. But she had one more thing for him that she was sure he wasn't going to be pleased about. With his eyes and ears clogged up at the moment, he had no way of knowing that she was reaching across the table to retrieve a special little present. The sound of the packet as she tore it open was much louder than she would have liked, and she paused for a moment to let the aching in her skull settle down before it grew into a full-blown migraine. Taking out the thick wads of binding tape, she looked over her patient with a reluctant sigh. He was _not_ going to like this.

This was a measure she had not had need of in her work so far, but Giles would certainly be pleased that she remembered her first-aid training. With the bone having cut right through the skin, the break was so nasty that she couldn't afford to trust that Spike would keep the arm still. In fact, there was no way in hell that this ADHD, energetic and active little vampire could keep that arm still long enough for the bones to join; no matter how fast vampiric healing could be. The only way to make sure the arm would heal good-as-new was to tape it to the side of his body.

He really was going to hate her for this.


	5. Sleep and Snickers

**A/N: It may end up being that I won't be able to keep a set schedule for updates, I've never been very good at them I'm afraid. The upside is that, though sometimes this story may be updated a few days late, sometimes it might be updated a few days earlier. With a new job starting up soon, it could be really good for my writing, or could stretch things out a bit. I apologise in advance if this happens, but I will keep trying my best to keep this story going at a regular pace. I'm a little nervous about this chapter, so if you guys like it, please let me know, it would mean the world to me. I wish you happy reading!**

* * *

Never having used this kind of tape before, Buffy found herself wondering how she was supposed to apply it. She'd seen athletes with tape on their arms and knees, so she guessed this stuff came in strips? Or was she supposed to tear it? She turned the roll of tape over in her hands, wondering if she had picked up the right one. Would it really matter when it came to him? All it had to do was hold the arm still, couldn't be that complicated, right? Her head twinged with pain as she found that overthinking only made things worse, she was too tired to question what she had already done, she just needed to make sure he wasn't going to lose the arm altogether; that was all she really needed to do.

She quickly found the edge of the tape and worked it off the base with a fingernail, separating enough of it to get a grip with her fingertips. The shredding sound as she pulled the tape away from the base was both irritating and oddly pleasing at the same time, as though it promised to fix everything without even really trying. Holding the white tape between her hands, she looked over her patient, trying to figure out the best way to do this.

The idea occurred to her that she could hold his arm down and just wrap the tape around him over and over until he couldn't move it, but maybe that was overkill; she wasn't sure if she had enough tape for that anyway. Maybe she should do a minimal job, just a few rounds to keep his arm in place without using up the whole supply in one go. That seemed the most logical thing to do. She hoped this stuff was strong, she was certain Spike would try to fight against it sooner or later, even if it meant causing himself more pain. He was kind of stupid that way. Rolling her eyes, Buffy focused on her task before she got distracted with all the wonderful insults she could be throwing Spike's way now that he had no way of hearing her.

Holding the tape with her fingertips, she tugged and pulled to test the strength, finding it was surprisingly flexible, but reasonably difficult to tear. Well, difficult for a regular person at least, with her Slayer powers it was like ripping tissue paper. She pulled out a good long strip and tore it off from the pack, holding it carefully as she tried to assess where she should stick it down. Following a touch of intuitiveness derived from her experience with hard injuries and medical supplies, she began decorating Spike's pastel white shoulder with short strip after strip. Winding it over the smooth top of the bone, down around the upper part of his bicep, and down towards his elbow.

Spike grunted and snorted most of the time, not liking the new pressure being applied, but he behaved himself reasonably well, though he did growl quietly when she began to bind his arm down. There was twitching and inching, his discomfort with being bound up, when he had already had a large degree of his freedom stripped away already, making itself known. But there was really nothing he could do to stop her, nor did he think it wise to challenge her, so he kept himself quiet. He may not think he needed this much tending to, but then again, maybe the wound was worse than even he knew.

After making sure the shoulder and bicep were properly secured, Buffy wrapped the whole roll from the back of his bicep to the front before running it over his chest, under his other arm, and over his back, completing the circuit. Three times she did this, making sure the top, the middle, and the bottom of his upper arm were firmly held to his side. To finish the job, she dumped the remainder of the tape reel on the table, and picked up a spare dressing, winding it a few times around his wrist before looping it over the back of his neck and creating a sling.

Satisfied with the work she had done, she reached into one of the bags and pulled out the shirt she had nicked from his place, giving him no warning before stretching the flexible cotton over his head and guiding his good arm through the sleeve. Once she'd pulled it down, she realised she'd made a mistake. There was an audible sound of relief from Spike when she reached into the neck of the tee, unhooked the sling and maneuvered it down and out the bottom of the shirt, before looping it back over his head, now on the outside. He still looked pretty dumb, one arm peeking out from under the shirt while the empty sleeve hung miserably against his shoulder. She was certain there was a better way to do this, but she just couldn't remember what it was.

Too bad. She was exhausted, she was cranky, and she was almost in tears with the need to sleep. It wasn't hurting him to wear the shirt this way, so he could just put up with it for a while; at least until she remembered how to make it more comfortable. She was surprised to find that he had no complaints to air, there was no groaning or bitching or moaning, hell, she hadn't heard a word from him in a while. Good.

Buffy left the coffee table a mess of plastic and trash as she slunk over to the spare section of the sofa, fighting off the wave of dizziness that washed through her head every time she moved. Curling up on the sofa seat, the minimal space offered very little comfort, but with her head spinning and her stomach groaning, she decided she didn't care. The moment she let her eyes fall shut, she knew there was no use in trying to open them again. Her body was just so tired, she could feel it in her fingers and her toes. There was a degree of pain in nearly every one of her joints, and her muscles burned from the long walk around town. The only thing that sought to keep her awake was the nagging little sensation at the back of her brain, informing her of the presence of a vampire, and warning her to stay alert. It didn't matter that she knew Spike was harmless to her, especially in his current condition, her Slayer senses were furious that she was allowing herself to be so relaxed in his company.

It was a great relief when her need to sleep became too strong to be held back by the warning, and Buffy fell swiftly into a deep, dreamless slumber, comforted by peace as all her pain and worries just melted away. All curled up tight, her arms folded in half and squished against her chest. It felt like she had only been asleep for a few minutes when something seemed to reach towards her, taking her by the arm and pulling her forcibly back to consciousness. Her body jerked in surprise as something made a growling noise.

 _Grr…_

Vampire, right? Well, the only vampire here was Spike. So what the hell was he growling about? It happened again, and she screwed her face up in annoyance. "Spiiiike, stop it." She whined, hoping her drowsy slurring hadn't made that any less of a threat.

 _Grr…_

"Stop making that noise." What was he doing? Didn't he know she was trying to sleep?

 _GRR!_

She was ready to snap at him when she heard him chuckle, and her temper begun to flare up until he explained. "S'not me, Slayer, 's comin' from you"

Buffy frowned, ready to yell at him for telling lies when she _felt_ the sound coiling in her gut, wondering how she had missed it all the other times before. There was another rumble as her insides rippled with an empty anger. "Oh." She groaned, wrapping her arms around her aching stomach. She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy, and the glimpse of warm light that snuck between the slits of her lids was blinding, causing her to quickly shut them once again. It seemed sunset was on the horizon, she'd been asleep far longer than she'd thought, a few hours at the very least. There was a fuzziness in her head that made it hard to process things, and all she wanted to do was to go back to sleep. But that was, unfortunately, not an option anymore.

As her stomach growled yet another time, Buffy squeezed her body into a tight ball, rolling onto her side and bringing up her knees as though to protect her stomach and fight off the almost painful ache. She groaned irritably, squeezing her eyes as firmly shut as they could go, hoping it would go away if she ignored it for long enough.

"When was the last time yer ate somethin', pet? Yer must be starvin', growlin' like that."

Couldn't he just shut up? She already knew she was hungry, she didn't need him to remind her. She couldn't remember when she ate last anyway, she couldn't remember the last time she actually felt like she _could_ eat. She groaned as another wave of hunger crashed against her insides, scratching at the inner walls of her gut in its resolute demand. "I don't know…yesterday? I don't remember"

She heard Spike sigh, and knew she didn't have to explain her lack of appetite to him. "What 'bout water, pet? Yer remembered to have a sip o' that at least in the past few days?

The dizzy pain in her head said 'no' in a very firm manner. "I don't know, maybe – wait…." One weary eye forced its way open, head lifting up slightly, and staring at him with suspicion. "You can hear me?"

A small, amused smirk crossed his lips, and one of his sharp brows bounced up in jest. "Just picked up on that, did you? Yeah, it came back 'bout an hour ago, you've been out cold fer a while"

Ignoring his attempt at mocking her lack of attention, Buffy let loose a heavy sigh of relief and let her head fall back onto the couch. "Well at least one of us is feeling better." Maybe it wouldn't be too long before the rest of him healed up too, then he wouldn't be her problem anymore. _'That would be nice'_ she thought, as her body sagged atop the sofa seat, her energy stores drained and tired. Taking care of herself right now was enough trouble as it was, but caring for someone else at the same time was turning into a nightmare.

"Are you in pain?" His voice suddenly took on a serious tone, and she wondered if that was what concern sounded like coming from him.

For some reason, the question sounded stupid to her mind, and the response of 'Well, duh!' just didn't seem to cut it. Her irritation grew into a bitter anger, derived from her own self-hate now being directed towards him. She forced both eyes only the barest smidgen wide and glared at him on the other side of the couch, and with eyes blinded by her painful hunger and dizzy fatigue, she could see nothing of his broken legs, cracked ribs and blood soaked hair. "Oh I don't know, only took a plunge through a half dozen trees and cracked a couple branches on the way down to a floor of sticks and rocks. What do you think?"

Her biting sarcasm hurt him visibly, his face wincing as though her words had actual claws, slicing through his red and weakened skin as they passed him by. He hung his head in shame, laying his good arm over his lap, using his shoulder as a shield between himself and her words. "I had thought…maybe I had helped…That maybe you weren't… If I'd been faster, yer wouldn't 'ave gotten hurt…and 'm sorry fer that…'m sorry fer a lot o' things…"

Hers eyes softened and slowly opened fully, the sour mood she had woken up with being swallowed up by an all too familiar pit of guilt and shame. A feeling that was quickly overcast by a burning curiosity. "Wait a minute, you think all this is _your_ fault?"

"It is, Buffy, I should had gotten ter yer sooner, should 'ave stopped ya…it's my fault you got hurt…"

Buffy stared in confusion and wonder at this incredibly stupid vampire who was somehow, at the same time, also…sweet? No, it wasn't 'sweet'. _Spike_ was not sweet. No. He was just…the guy that saved her life. He had seen her jump off a cliff and immediately jumped off after her. He had to of known there was a forest beneath their feet, it would have only taken one single branch, one stick growing at the exact right angle, to have reduced him to a pile of dust. In all honesty, the fall had been far more dangerous for him than it had ever been for her, but he had gone over anyway…to save _her_.

She wasn't about to give him a medal or invite him back into her house, there was still plenty she had to hate him for, but her absolute revulsion of him had certainly taken a significant blow since last night. After all, it was kind of hard to hate someone when they looked so broken and sad.

"Spike…" She saw him cringe though he tried to hide it, as though he were expecting a belting of accusations and harsh words to come flying out of her mouth; and she really couldn't blame him. "I have never liked you, or _ever_ wanted to be with you. I will never want you that way. Your… _feelings_ don't mean anything to me, and if you'd ended up dead last night, I wouldn't have mourned you." She paused for a moment, a sliver of curiosity holding her tongue, waiting to see his reaction to her admission. His expression was unreadable, letting nothing get passed a wall of indifference. "But…you saved my life last night, and you…you saved Dawn and my friends from suffering because of my – my _stupid_ mistake. If you hadn't been there last night, I wouldn't be here today. So while I haven't forgiven you for that stunt in your crypt, or for all the other stuff you've done over the years…thank you for saving my life"

The wall cracked, brief flashes of emotions leaking through the mask. There was a touch of relief that she saw, and she wondered where it had come from. She waited patiently for him to say something stupid, to ruin the moment with his annoying attitude, but surprisingly, he stayed quiet.

The Slayer had accepted that he had done something good, something worth thanking him for, and suddenly he didn't have a clue what he wanted to say or what he should say, only knowing that this moment was too valuable and could so easily be destroyed by one wrong word from him. He didn't want to make her hate him again, this was his chance, his chance to build good will with Buffy, to show her how much he had changed, to prove he could be a good man. It was too great a risk for him to open his mouth right now, so he determinedly kept it shut.

Realising he wasn't going to say anything, Buffy relaxed back into a comfortable position, only for the silence to be broken by her stomach announcing itself once again; refusing to be forgotten. Buffy whimpered, realising there was no way she was waiting this out. Even when she got her mind off her hunger, her body was set on reminding her. She needed to eat something and soon, it was already so uncomfortable, and the aching was only getting stronger. For a moment, she entertained the thought of giving Spike a bunch of her blood to make him heal, and then letting _him_ take care of _her_ instead. It really sucked that there was no healing potion for Slayers like there was for vampires, but she guessed that was the price of being a human. If only she had bought something to eat when she was at the drug stor–

Suddenly her eyes flew wide open and she dived towards the table, her lower half still on the sofa with her middle hovering in the air. She snatched at the plastic bags, pulling them towards her, stopping to screw her face up at the bag full of used swabs, before finding the bag she was looking for. Reaching in with a brilliant grin, she pulled out the Snickers bar hidden at the bottom. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten about it, but then again, she'd had a lot of other things on her mind.

Spike listened intently to the sound of rustling plastic, wondering what she was doing, before he heard a happy little sigh and the sound of a peeling candy bar wrapper. He could smell the chocolate and sweet caramel, and smiled at the knowledge that she had a little food at least. It wouldn't sate her fully or for that long, but it would give her enough energy to get back to town where she could buy herself something proper.

The bar was gone in minutes, leaving Buffy running her tongue around the lining of her lips trying to pick up all the spots of delicious chocolate she had missed. The crunch, the texture and the chocolaty goodness went down like a dream, but instead of stilling the hunger in her stomach, it merely suppressed it for all of a few seconds before it came roaring back to life. She'd broken the fast with that bar, and now she was hungrier than ever.

"Argh!" She growled, getting clumsily to her feet, her determination overpowering her depleted energy stores and foggy mind. She nabbed her purse from the table, where she had plonked it with the bags, and took a few steps towards the front entrance when Spike suddenly picked up on the growing distance between them.

"Buffy?" There was a note of panic in his voice, his fear calming her grumpy mood to a more compassionate level before she started yelling at him.

"I need to go to the shops again, there's no food or water here, or if there is, I doubt it's safe to drink. I'll get you more blood while I'm out, okay?"

"Buffy…" It almost sounded like he'd suddenly forgotten what he was about to say, but she was sure that wasn't actually the case. He was holding back, not saying the things he really wanted to, and she found herself grateful for that.

Right now, she didn't want to hear anything about his 'feelings' towards her, she didn't want to hear him say he was in love with her or that they were made for each other or any of that garbage. So long as he kept all of that to himself, there was a chance she'd be able to keep being civil with him through all this. If he breathed one word of anything to do with love or romance or the two of them being together, she might very well walk out on him and leave him here to rot. Fortunately, he seemed to be aware of this, and was making an effort to keep his more intimate thoughts about her to himself.

"Spike, I need to go"

His voice was caught in his throat, trying to find the right way to ask what he wanted to know without upsetting her, or reminding her of how much she wanted to stake him. He knew she had to leave, she would only get weaker if she stayed here, but by god did he wish she would stay. He didn't want to be left alone again, he could hear things now, which was better, but he was still very vulnerable. When Buffy was around, he knew everything was alright. If danger rose its ugly head, she'd chop it off before either of them got hurt. But without her…if he was alone…

"Yer…yer comin' back, right? Soon?"

Buffy could detect the suppressed emotion in his voice, but couldn't quite place the meaning of it. Though she knew he believed himself to be in love with her, she found it strange that he seemed so reluctant to be out of her presence. After all the times she'd rejected him, belittled him, or beaten him up, she'd have thought he would consider this time without her to be a gift. Once again, she found herself unable to understand the strange old vampire, and shook the thoughts from her mind, turning back towards her goal.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Spike. Get some rest while I'm gone"

Behind her back, he released a bated breath, closing his eyes upon instinct and tipping his head back in relief. It was extremely stupid for a vampire to be so afraid of being alone, but it felt like he had been that way his entire existence and he was beyond sick of it. Even if she hated his guts, she was still far better company than the cold and empty silence.

"I'll just…sleep 'till yer get back"

"Okay. Sleep well." She said uneasily, before she turned back to the curtains and disappeared into the fading sunlight.


	6. Selfish

Peach streaks cut through the sky, a soft winter blue blending with an indigo night. As the hour stretched on, Buffy continued to sit in the Espresso Pump, staring endlessly down at the scatter of crumbs on the plate in front of her, all that was left of the giant banana muffin she had ravenously consumed. She was still hungry, but she was hesitant to go up to the counter and buy another one. It hadn't occurred to her yet that it was a problem, but when she had opened up her purse to pay the cashier, she had been struck by what remained. There was plenty of money in there, certainly enough to afford her order of a giant muffin and large mocha latte a few times over, but it had come as a shock when she realised that this was all that was left.

She had a bank account that had grown over the months, having increasingly less and less time to spend a day out with friends or to go clothes shopping, but it wasn't enough to take care of herself and Dawn for more than a few months. That wasn't even including the cost of Dawn's school fees or her own college fees. The money she had would only last so long, and sooner or later it would all be gone. She wasn't sure how much money was leftover in her mother's account after the hospital was done sucking it all up. Why should she even pay those fees? Her mother was dead, they'd already taken _her_ from them, so why should they get to eat up their life savings as well? It was a cruelty that was she was forced to deal with all this so soon after losing her mother.

If there was one thing that Buffy absolutely did not want to have to think about right now, it was money problems. With her mother dead, there was now no source of income coming into the house, which meant she would have to get a job. An unpleasant necessity at this time to a normal person, but for her it was a nightmare. On top of taking care of her sister, going to college, and being the only thing standing between the world and complete destruction on a weekly basis, Buffy was exhausted enough as it was. Add to that, the undead English patient in desperate need of her ongoing help, and the idea of getting a job was absolutely terrifying. When could she possibly work? She would have to have the most flexible shifts ever to even consider fitting it in with all the other stuff going on in her life. It was all far too much, and she couldn't even be sure that she would be able to get a job that paid well enough to keep the house, much less a job at all with her current hours of availability.

She would have to drop out of school, it wasn't even a choice. There was no way she could hold down a job _and_ take care of her sister _and_ be the Slayer _and_ fight Glory _and_ take care of Spike. She was beginning to wish Spike had never seen her last night, wished he had never come to her rescue. If he had just let her go over alone, she could be dead by now, and though she knew in her head and her heart how horrible it would be for everyone if she had succeeded, there was still a part of her that yearned for just a moment of that peace.

She wanted to be free of all her duties, free to hide away in her room for a couple of months and just have the time to mourn her mother, to figure out what her life would be like now without her, and to not have to fight herself every second of the day. She knew what she wanted, but she also knew she couldn't have it. She didn't have the luxury of grieving her mother, she had to get back on her feet, step up and take control of things. She had to run the house and keep Dawn safe and help Spike heal and – she just wanted to scream!

Squishing her head between the palms of her hands, Buffy permitted a few tears to streak down her face, hoping it would relieve at least a little of the pressure in her head. If she didn't get this out of her system soon, she was going to snap. Shooting up from the table, she walked briskly out of the coffee shop and into the street. Her watery eyes whizzed around, searching for a dark corner where she could let her frustrations free, but there was still too many people around. Shops were beginning to close, with employees taking out the trash or mingling in the alleyways for a last smoke before heading home, but there was still plenty of places open at this time, and would remain open for hours into the night. She just needed somewhere to hide.

But fate was not on her side. Instead of providing her with a dark, dank hole to climb into and cry, her eyes caught sight of a familiar face heading straight for her, and it felt like her heart had dropped into her stomach. She wanted to be sick at the sight of him walking over, his expression deceptively calm while he hid a flicker of concern as well as relief behind those renowned glasses of his. She didn't want to see him, she didn't want to see anyone she knew, she wanted to hide, not to be found.

And why him? Of all her friends she could have bumped into on Main Street, why did it have to be him? He wouldn't let her off so easily once he saw how distressed she was, and she didn't have the strength to keep fighting him once he realised how messed up she had become. What if he figured out what she had done? What if he could just look into her eyes and know she had betrayed him, betrayed all of them? She couldn't talk to him yet, she hadn't planned what she would say, oh why couldn't he just walk away?

"Buffy? Are you okay?" Giles stopped a couple of inches away, leaning in to keep their conversation private while trying not to overcrowd her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked at her with eyes full of sympathy and compassion. He was trying to comfort her, but he was only making things worse.

She wanted to bury herself in his arms, to have him hold her and rock her the way her real dad should be doing, telling her that things would be okay and he would take care of everything and she didn't have to worry. But she didn't want him to see her like that, she couldn't be weak, she had to be strong. So she held it in and forced herself to breathe. Blinking away her tears, she closed herself off from her emotions, but couldn't quite force herself to smile.

"I'm okay, Giles, just – you know, going for a walk, getting some fresh air and all that"

He didn't look convinced. "Where have you been all day? I called your house and your dorm room, but there was no answer"

"I haven't been home yet, um…Did you talk to Dawn? I saw her today and asked her to let everyone know I was okay"

"Oh, no, I didn't think to call Willow and Tara," _'So leaving a message with Dawn was a complete waste of time? She's my sister, not a brick wall. Why didn't he ask her if she knew anything?'_ "I should probably sit down with Dawn, give her someone to talk to about all this"

For some reason, Buffy didn't think that would go down too well. Dawn wasn't in the mood for talking to anyone about their mother, least of all someone who apparently had a habit of forgetting she existed. Had things always been this way and she had just never noticed? If anyone should sit down with Dawn, it was her and nobody else. This was a family matter, a sister thing, and it was wrong to put the weight of that conversation on her Watcher.

"You don't have to do that, I can talk to Dawn"

Giles looked pensive. "Are you sure, Buffy? You do have a lot on your plate right now, perhaps it would be wise to outsource a few things"

Though she was confident that she could handle talking to her sister about their mum, he did make a good point. "Actually, there is something you could help with"

His face lit up, almost a little too excited about having something to do. "Yes, of course, anything"

She needed help, she needed guidance, and he was all she had left in that capacity. "Sometime this week, could you come round and help me with the whole money thing? You know, paying hospital fees and paying house bills…and finding money for future bills." She got quieter the longer she went on, but he managed to pick everything up just fine.

"Oh, of course, I can help you with that"

"Thanks," she smiled awkwardly, not really feeling enough joy to put much effort into it, but trying to show she was grateful all the same. "I just need someone to teach me how to do these things, I really don't know what I'm doing"

"Oh right, yes, yes of course. I can come over right now if you'd like to get it out of the way"

It was tempting, getting all of that off her mind sooner rather than later, but then she glanced towards the hill where Crawford Street was and remembered that she was expected elsewhere tonight. "Not tonight, I…I just don't have the head for that stuff right now"

"Certainly, I understand. How about I walk you home?"

"Oh, no, I don't…I don't wanna go home"

His eyes narrowed at her in a mix of suspicion and sympathy. She was really beginning to hate the 'pity face'. "You _have_ been home since your mother died, why don't you wish to be there now? If you simply don't want to be alone, you can stay at my place, or you could stay at Xander's or Willow's, I'm sure"

The fact of the matter was that, though she didn't want to stay in her empty house; the image of her mother's cold body on the sofa burned into her mind, haunting her throughout the night; she didn't want to stay with any of her friends either. But she couldn't tell him that Spike was waiting for her at the mansion, or that she was too ashamed to be anywhere near her friends right now, he wouldn't understand, and she hadn't worked out her story yet as to _why_ she needed to take care of Spike. She wasn't ready, she needed more time. "Actually, I think I'm just gonna patrol for the rest of the night, keep my mind off things for a while. I'll be fine." Patrol. Always a good excuse to get out of things.

He frowned, visibly concerned. "Are you absolutely sure you should be patrolling at a time like this?"

"Absolutely!" She said with a big, fake grin, pleased to have found something that seemed to be working. "Getting all that anger and sadness out, fighting is exactly what I need"

Not wishing to push her luck any further, Buffy turned around and started walking off, hoping to get away before she let something spill or gave away too much information. Unfortunately, it was exactly this method of escaping discovery that led to her Watcher detecting something he had failed to see before.

"Buffy, wait"

She stopped, but didn't turn around, hoping he just had a few parting words and that would be it. She realised it wasn't going to be so easy when he walked around to her front and ran his eyes over her arms and legs, finally noticing her odd choice of clothing for the weather. It was still warm right now, even though the sun was going down, and yet she was bound from chin to toe in eclipsing garments, he could barely even see her knuckles beneath the stretched sleeves of her turtleneck.

"Why are you dressed so warmly? Are you hurt?"

He made that connection? Was she really so transparent? Feeling the increasingly desperate desire to get the hell away from here, she tried to play dumb to make her escape. "No, what makes you think that? I was just cold today, that's all"

"Then why are you walking with a limp?"

Her eyes grew wide. She _was_? When? How long had she been doing that? And how had she not noticed? It occurred to her that the reason behind that probably had something to do with the fact that her entire body was sore and hurting all over and trying to discern one source of pain from another was virtually impossible. "I'm fine." She said quickly, hoping to bypass him and get away from this growing field of suspicion. But he wouldn't let her go.

"Buffy, tell me what happened to you? Did something attack you? Where were you last night?"

Her shoulders hunched up, head pulling back, her whole body shrinking and pulling away. She couldn't tell him the truth, she didn't want him to know, not now, not ever. Giles could never know. No one could ever be allowed to know. "I – uh," But she had to come up with something. "I was…there was a demon. I chased him from the cemetery and…I followed him to the bluff near Crawford Street, you know, the one that overlooks the town, and…uh…we fought, and it knocked me over the side. I fell into the forest"

Maybe it was the glasses he was always wearing, but she was certain she had never seen his eyes get _that_ big before. "You fell off the cliff?! Good God, Buffy, why aren't you at the hospital?! You shouldn't be walking around! You should be in bed, resting…how did you make it out of there? I mean, even with your abilities and healing, a fall like that should have caused far more damage than you seem to be exhibiting, more than a limp and a few cuts and bumps –"

' _Maybe it had something to do with the Spike-shaped pillow I landed on'_

"– a drop that high could have killed you, Buffy!"

A shock of cold ran up her spine and she flinched at the pain the movement caused in her shoulder blades and ribs. She may have gotten off easy last night, but there was still a lot of healing she had to do. She couldn't imagine what kind of state she would've been in if Spike hadn't been there to save her. Then she really wouldn't have been able to talk her way out of this. "But it didn't, I got lucky"

"More than lucky, it's a miracle you weren't crippled, or even knocked out –"

The more he spoke, the worse she felt. His amazement at her escape of a potentially fatal injury only made the thick substance in her throat grow bigger. She felt like she was going to be sick, she couldn't listen to him anymore. "Look, Giles, I'm really tired and I just want to go lie down. Can't we talk about this another time? Please?"

He seemed confused by her request, but acquiesced in time. "Of course, you should take the next few days off, I should think. No patrolling for a while, understood?"

There was no reason in the world for her to complain with that idea. "Absolutely." She would be more than happy to avoid her Slayer-ly duties for a short while, it would give her the time to get things organised.

Though still very much perplexed by her easy fall, he decided to let it go for the time being; she'd been through enough, and she must be quite shaken after experiencing something as frightening as this. She could have died last night, it wasn't something to be taken lightly. Giles gave her a quick nod before letting her turn and walk away. Buffy didn't want to waste any more time. While trying to keep an innocent air about her, she hurried off in the opposite direction of the mansion.

Once sure she was out of sight, she let herself relax against the wall of an alleyway, praying that Giles hadn't noticed her strange behaviour. Maybe he did know that she was lying, that there was something she wasn't telling him, but he couldn't know what it was; there was no way. He couldn't know; he could never know.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy pulled out her purse and checked her limited amount of cash once more, trying to figure out how much food she should buy now. Her stomach wasn't settled after that coffee and muffin, but she needed the money to last. How much could she spend now without being selfish? There was food at home, but she wasn't going there; not alone. But she also didn't want to spend any more time at the mansion than she absolutely had to. She'd go back there tonight, but first thing in the morning she was leaving and she wasn't going back. She just needed to figure out what she was going to do with Spike.

Her stomach coiled with hunger and she decided those thoughts could wait until she got back to the mansion, but right now she needed to eat something more than a muffin and check if the butcher's shop was still open. She had the rest of the night to figure everything else out.

~o~o~o~

How long had she been gone? It felt like forever since he had heard her voice. He had tried to sleep through it, pretend like she had never left, that he wasn't alone and vulnerable while a significant portion of the demon community was itching to tear his head from his shoulders. He wasn't a coward, but he could still feel fear. To be alone, trapped in a world of darkness, where you couldn't see, could barely move, and were forced to rely on your sense of smell and hearing, while your body was burning with pain. It was unnerving to say the least, but when _she_ was here, it was like the danger didn't exist anymore.

He hardly expected her to protect him, he wasn't stupid enough to believe she was taking care of him because she actually cared, he wasn't really sure why she was taking care of him, but her presence still made him feel safe. Maybe after saving her life, she simply didn't know how to treat him anymore, perhaps she had forced herself to forget who he really was and to pretend he was just an innocent in need. Whatever she had to do to get the job done.

He supposed he should be grateful for that.

The soft cushion beneath his body was soothing to his injuries, far nicer than the hard back of the couch had been. After Buffy had set him in an upright position, she had never thought to return him to his previous state, and he'd been sitting erect ever since. There were muscles in his back that were still burning from the long stasis in that uncomfortable spot, it was a miracle he had managed to get more comfortable without causing himself some serious damage.

He'd managed to lay himself down on his back with only the use of his left arm and a little help from good old gravity. It had taken a great deal of pain and effort to slide himself down the back of the couch, shuffle himself into a comfortable position, and then to lift his legs onto the couch using a sharp grip on the edge of his jeans. Never before had he found jeans uncomfortable, but right now, with shots of fire running laps through his body, they felt tight and constricting. He wanted to be free of them, to strip them off, to sleep naked like he always did, but if Buffy came in and found him in his birthday suit, she would stake him for sure. There was no getting around that. Besides, there was no conceivable way he could get them off alone anyway.

He heard the far-off beat of footsteps approaching and let loose a sigh of relief at the light weight of those feet, recognising the slight limp in the pattern he had quickly come to know. It was long after dark, he had been worried about her. What if she had bumped into an evil nasty on her way back? The condition she was in could get her killed if she tried to fight, and if the enemy got the upper hand, there would be nothing he could do.

With barely a sound, Buffy entered through the curtains, setting a plastic container of blood on the table with two water bottles down beside it. She sat down on the sofa, eyes gazing down at the floor, her hands folded together in her lap. Spike didn't want to say a word, immediately sensing the change in the room since she stepped into it. But the silence was suffocating, and he could detect nothing to indicate that she had plans to break it hersef.

"Buffy?"

"What?" Her tone was dull, almost cold in its complete lack of emotion.

"Is there somethin' I can do? Ter help?"

A painfully sad laugh burst forth, bringing tears to the tired eyes of the Slayer. When the sound lost its strength, producing nothing more than infrequent hiccups, Buffy wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and sighed.

"Yeah, sure, you could pay all my bills for the rest of my life, raise Dawn, kill Glory, and bring my mother back from the dead"

"Well, I know I can manage at least one of those, havta get back ter ya on the rest"

Eyes still dismal and impassive, she looked over at him and blinked. "Which one would that be?"

"I can get yer money"

She scoffed. "I don't want the blood money you get in your poker games, Spike"

He wanted to recite the age old adage: 'beggars can't be choosers', but thought better of it. No point pushing the subject when the source of the money wasn't the issue. She would never accept money from him, no matter where it came from; even if it was legal.

Silence drifted in the warm spring air, the stone-like behaviour of the Slayer leaving Spike concerned for the state of her mind. He thought the quiet would last forever.

"I'm not staying here." She said out of the blue. "The next time I leave here, I'm not coming back." She was going to leave him here? Alone? She would really abandon him? "I don't want to be here, but I can't leave you here alone…I don't know what to do"

He had become yet another problem for her to worry about on top of everything else. He hadn't meant to become a burden for her, to cause her more trouble and stress than she already had.

"Leave me in ma crypt, 'll figure somethin' out"

She knew she couldn't do that either, the guilt would eat her alive. There was only one way to make this work, and it was the one thing she really did not want to do.

"You can stay in my house, in the basement. That's comfy enough for you, isn't it?"

He was stunned. Since the night he had discovered she had revoked his invitation, he had dreamed of her allowing him back inside her house. Giving him access to her world, to her life, just having that one little part of her. It equalled trust of some kind, and that was more than he had ever expected to get from her. She'd only let him in due to necessity, and had no longer viewed him as a threat from that night on. He wondered why she hadn't revoked his invitation after his drunken venture to Sunnydale, when he had popped in and had a conversation with her mum. This, this right here, it was too good to be true. She couldn't be serious about this, letting him come and live with her for weeks? Even months?

"Are you sure, pet?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's only for a week or two, right? You should be up and walking again by then, won't you?"

Oh, that's why she was considering this, she thought he would only be out of commission for that short a time. Sadly it was not to be such an easy journey as that. His body seemed to sink down into the couch, his hope flying off out of one of the many windows. "Sadly not, pet, could be stuck like this for quite a while"

"What? Why? Your legs are just a little broken, aren't they? With regular feeding, you shouldn't take too long to get back on your feet"

"My legs…I can't move 'em, luv, I can't even _feel_ 'em. Ma lower backs buggered good and proper, could be months before I can move 'em again"

"Months?!" She cried. "What do you mean it could take _months_?"

He took a few minutes to calm himself, not wanting to show how much her reaction had affected him. No doubt she was rethinking the idea of letting him stay with her, and he had lost his only chance. "Last time I found myself like this, I was stuck in a wheelchair for close to five months"

"God DAMN IT!"

She slammed her foot down, cracking the tile, and leaving a trail of aching prickles crawling up her leg. Months? _Months?!_ How could she keep him in her house for _months?!_ Someone would see him, they would figure it out, she would have to admit everything, tell everyone how she had tried to kill herself. Her friends would be furious with her, they would hate her, shun her, Giles would abandon her, thinking she was too weak, too foolish to be the Slayer anymore. Dawn would no doubt run away like she always did, she would run away, but this time she would never come back. She would lose everything, everyone, there would be nothing left. Angry tears leaked down her cheeks and she fought fiercely to keep them back. A furious sob broke free between her gritted teeth, and Spike's head rose up at break-neck speed.

"Buffy? What's wrong?" Why was she crying? What had he said to make her cry? He knew she would be angry, but why upset? What had he done? What could he do to make things better? "Don' cry, luv, 'm sorry. Just leave me in ma crypt, ya don' havta worry 'bout me. 'll find a way ter take care o' myself, you don' havta do anythin'"

She should have been relieved by his offer to take the weight of his recovery off her hands. She wanted to. She wanted to give it all up, let him find someone else to take care of him. She didn't want him around, she didn't want him in her house…but she would be no different from a soulless demon if she left him like this, it would be nothing short of selfish, and being selfish was something she had almost forgotten how to do. She didn't know how to say no to others anymore, how to put her needs above theirs. It had been drilled into her mind that everyone else's needs came before her own, and she had started to believe it. No longer was she that teenager who had the gall to lie to Giles and sneak off to a fraternity party, or the girl who claimed she had to study with Willow as an excuse to skip patrol. She wanted to be selfish, at this time more than ever, she just wanted to be allowed to do what she wanted to do…but he had saved her life, and she owed him that. Whether she liked it or not, Spike was her responsibility; he always had been.


End file.
